Melody of Darkness
by The Great Ahtnamas
Summary: You have entered the cave behind the old Music Box House in Termina, during the Waring days of Igos du Ikana, in search of serentity. There, you meet a ghost who had signed a pact with the devil: Sharp the Eldest. This is a story written in 2nd person about any gendered/aged person, despite the use of the word child. WARNING: Nudity and mild suggestive themes.


When you enter the cave where the old river used to come from, you notice the sweet, mildewed scent of stagnant water and the stingingly sickening scent of decay mingling dangerously in your nose. The cave is dark, illuminated only by a strange, supernatural glow below the unmoving, dead water. You look around at the poisonous shades of lilac and the foreboding hues of blue glimmering across the inner cave walls. You look up. The biggest stalactites you have ever seen hang above, dripping a liquid you don't dare ponder over. You look down. Crunch after crunch echoes above as you take each step, your feet finding their way through the bone of the skull and into the muddy dirt below. It squeezes between your toes unpleasantly, perfectly surrounding your precious, little feet. You are barefoot, and within the cave of the deceased, elder Composer Brother you might as well be naked. A strange wind, chill and deadly, pierces your skin through your clothes, chilling you and at the same time reminding you quite how warm and full of life you truly are.

You turn back the way you came, but cannot take a step forward. The tunnel seems to extend for ages, the vague light of evening hardly discernible from the eerie glow within the well water. Ages, it seems; ages. Could you go back? Perhaps, but would you? No. You turn around to gaze into the mauve-lit water. Transfixed, you move toward it, unsure and uncaring of your own intentions. You hear a venomous, benign voice beckoning to you. It echoes, etching itself into your head from all sides of the cave….

_Come…._

…_Come to me, Child of the Living…._

…_Come…. …Come to me…._

…_Step into the water… Child of the Living…._

…And you follow it. Do you think? It is difficult to say. You allow yourself to move into the water, stepping carelessly into a thick layer of muck. You slip in the algae-infested murk and suddenly find yourself under the water's surface, blinded by muck and suffocating. You scratch and claw for the air just above you, but the liquid does not allow you movement. You are hovering in place, darkness below, lightness around, and darkness above.

But then, through the darkness, a figure reaches down and plucks you gently from the poisoned depths. You rise out and it places you on the muddy shoreline with a grim grin, excited eyes, and a raised brow. Garbed in embroidered black finery, and floating above you vaguely jubilantly, the image appears to you as a misplaced, well-timed ghost—certainly not a Poe; hatred does not linger within those eyes.

You sink to your waist in mud, still sitting, and it holds you there firmly, almost dangerously. The world around you and this being seems to spin; the mud moves over and around you, fully coating you in this decay, mildew and bone. A touch of panic stings your heart, but as you look to this ghost, your panic is replaced by wonder. The emblem of the sun on his forehead and the brooch of beautiful jewels capture your mental chaos and transform it into a dangerous interest.

_Child of the Living,_ this ghost calls to you eerily. _You know this is no place for one as full of life as you_. It reaches down toward the water's surface; the eerie light from below rises up and takes the form of an old oil lantern in its black hand. The other holds the white, wooden baton of a conductor.

Your mouth opens of its own accord, and your voice, lips, and tongue work against you and speak calmly for you. "Life is so riddled with blood," You begin, to which he gruesomely grins. "The War of Ikana and Garo runs long and heavy and I have grown tired. I do not remember a time when the war did not rage."

The mud creeps up your arms and across your chest. Your clothes slowly begin to be ripped from you so slowly it remains barely noticeable. The ghost feigns care. Its green, empty eyes erupt of empathy, however wretched. _I can tell; you are but a child_. It places its baton under your chin and continues caringly. _You know what else I can tell? You came here to run away—to go somewhere no living spirits dare to go. The anger is clear. Now, my dear Child of the Living, why have you come to visit Sharp the Eldest?_

The mud inches its way around your neck almost caressingly. It acts, not to impassion you, but to confuse you, and its act does just this. Wrapping itself around your ankles and wrists, it pulls your body limb by limb stretch to opposite sides. Never once does it rip or yank, but simply moves you through its thick, amorphic mass.

"I fear not what you are or what you bring," you respond ever calmly yet. "I find intrigue in this place; I believe it could bring me more serenity than any land within or without Termina. I promise that I know of you and know why others do not come here. I also know a life of fear that I wish not to lead any longer." Your stomach begins to churn at your own words, and your panic returns for a moment.

Sharp's baton leaves your chin, but his lamp moves before your eyes, forcing you to gaze into it. Your panic rises again with his next words: _Do you say that you wish to join the dead_? His baton taps at his side to the beat of your heart.

You attempt to calm your panic before speaking. Bad as life may seem in Ikana's Age of Igos Du Ikana, death was not the route you intended. You intend to tell this spirit just that, and as such open your mouth of your own accord and speak:

"I live a dead life."

Your panic flares, as this was not the intended response. You watch the ghost nervously, trying to open your mouth again to reword your meaning. You cannot.

With a grin, Sharp says, _That is fine…._ He rises back and the mud turns you so you lay on your back, arms and legs deeply submerged and unable to move. Your breathing becomes haggard, and the soul returns and hovers over you and touches your cheek. _Sleep gently to the melody of darkness that the Great Composer, Sharp, shall play_…" As he moves back over the still water, you calm again, your heartbeat slowing to comfort. Sharp the spirit raises his baton and, with one final word to you, conducts the Melody of Darkness.

…_and join the ranks of the dead._

Then the mud raises you to stand and falls back to the shoreline, engulfing only your toes. The first, dark notes echo through the cavern, and the stagnant water creeps over the mud and up your legs to your waist. You cannot move, and only watch with shaking breaths as the water wraps around you and raises you into the air in gentle sweeps. It cleans the mud from your body in strange patterns and lines until you are left with lines of Hylian letters across your body:

_RANKS OF THE DEAD, DO WELCOME THIS SPIRIT, FREELY GIVEN_

As you read, barely able to comprehend, you notice that when you inhale, your panic rises, and as you exhale, your panic dissipates. Naturally, you want to exhale and never inhale again—but you manage to control yourself. You force deep breaths and ignore the panic-stricken confusion and watch the water move. More of it begins to run up your spine, and legs, slowly coating you in sweet water. You begin to lose your resolve; you want the water to engulf you, so strongly you almost yell in frustration. Slowly, ever so slowly, it begins to move up your chest, across your shoulders, around your neck, and tickles your face.

The Melody of Darkness continues and you look up at Sharp, who is watching you nastily as he conducts. He drops his lantern and it slowly floats before you, calming you, enchanting you, and filling you. Your eyes grow wide as you watch it, hearing the moving water, the Melody, and the vague sound of your heart.

The water fully engulfs you, satisfying your previous frustration. You hang limp in the water, content and unmoving, nude and quite decorated in ritualistic symbols. Suddenly, the water begins to pour into you at every opening. Completely against your will, you attempt to expel it with no avail. The water was alive, and it intended to fill its living visitor completely. Your mouth and nose fill with water first, then your anus, then your ears, and then….

But you feel no pain. You watch the light dance before you almost tiredly and breathe normally. You feel strange twinges of feeling in your more private parts as the water moves, but beyond that you feel full and where you belong. Your eyes begin to close and you barely hear as the last notes of the Melody of Darkness play. You are lowered to the ground, and the last thing you feel is the mud slithering around your legs, arms, and body again, and you are engulfed into the earth, everything quickly darkening to blackness.

Your parents and the rest of the Ikana and Garo knew precisely where you had gone. Not even for ceremonial rights was your body retrieved. You became a lost, wandering spirit….

…Forever….

* * *

Author's Note: yes this is very different than what i normaly upload. I hope you enjoyed it anyway. Please review, it was rather done on a whim. Happy readings!


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